


Hyper Light Knight

by Ohnomysoul



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game), Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Blood and Injury, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, also the south zone hasn't happened yet so no spoilers for south zone and past that, first fic, i mean hyper light drifter is full of blood so that's probably to be expected, or at least first one i upload
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-10-19 07:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohnomysoul/pseuds/Ohnomysoul
Summary: Drifter didn't think anything could get weirder than it already had been. With everything that had happened beforehand, he'd honestly thought he had seen everything. But now he's forced to work with this bug-like creature, a child no less, in order to get back home.Why was his life so weird...





	1. In Too Deep

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make so those not familiar with Hyper Light Drifter will still be able to read this without talking down to the people who already have played the game. (though the fanbases of both do seem to overlap.) So hopefully this turns out well.

Drifter awoke with a start.

He couldn't remember what had happened. The little he could only came up in flashes of pink and black. He groaned, pulling himself off the rocky ground. If his headache and any past experience had something to say in the matter, black and pink were not comforting in the slightest. Memories of the Jackal and hallucinations of the Judgement flooded his mind. _Definitely_ not comforting.

He shook his head. _Not now_. If anything, wasting time on those worries would get him nowhere. For now, he had to stay in the present, lest something strike.

A quick run through his inventory showed nothing amiss. Only thing off about it was that his companion sprite was shut _off_. With a quick _click_, the sprite’s motor’s whirred to life. It beeped at him, taking the time to float around him to check for injuries and to connect back into his server. Once satisfied, it hovered closer and nuzzled his claw. He smiled and pet the little thing. It beeped happily. Forget about the practical uses of a companion sprite, Drifter would have kept one around for the company alone.

He pushed himself to his feet, his sprite hovering behind him as if to catch his fall. It couldn't of course, being as small as it was, but it was the thought that counted. He surveyed the surrounding area. It was a cavern of sorts, maybe even a small part of a larger cave system. He pinged his map, hoping for something to give him an idea of what was going on. 

Nothing. Wherever he was, he wasn't on the map that the Guardian had given him. He felt a knot form in his chest. That map was _huge_. How could he not be on it? He took as deep a breath as he could without irritating his lungs. Calm. Everything would be fine. He didn't have a map before Guardian, and he sure as hell didn't need one now.

The companion sprite beeped around his shoulder, sensing his stress. He waved it off. He was fine. This was fine. 

With nothing else to do, he kept on. He followed the walls of the cave as they shrunk into claustrophobic hallways. Every so often he would catch sight of a small skittering thing. He didn't stick around long enough to get a good look, but they seemed to be a type of large insect. Well… He glanced back at the silhouette of the thing. Large was an understatement. The thing was the size of a small dog.

Right about when he was getting restless from being trapped inside the endless walls of the cavern, he heard the noise of an ever so quiet _ping_.

He stopped immediately. He angled his face in the direction of the noise, hoping to catch it once again. He did. His companion sprite must have heard it too. It zipped around in the direction of the noise, helping give Drifter a better route to follow.

Once the noise started to increase in volume, he slowed. His companion sprite did as well, taking the opportunity to hide underneath his cloak. Drifter strode closer, wrapping a claw around a wall's edge and peered inside.

The source was none other than a strange, small creature. Their (at least what he presumed to be) head was stark white against the grey rocky wall. Their small cloak was littered with debris from what looked to be a cave-in. The pinging came from the little tool they wielded, a small pointed hook. 

The little creature launched themself at the wall. Using the hook as a grip, they swung upwards. The hook dislodged itself with the movement, and the little one fell. Drifter only needed one look to know why; the wall was too uneven and didn't have the structure nor support to allow the creature to climb. The only question was if the little one didn't know this fact, or if they did but had no other way out…

Drifter stayed behind the wall. He felt a strange sort of pity for the little thing. He wanted to help; however, he had no way of knowing if this strange being was hostile or not. The sharp object strapped to their back didn't help his nerves. Just because the being was small, didn't mean they couldn't royally screw him up. The dumb kid from the town proved that well enough.

Deciding that he had no other option, Drifter continued forward. If he played his cards right and didn't startle them, maybe he could get on the strange being’s good side.

That plan immediately sunk. The tell-tale stab of pain in Drifter's chest being the catalyst. He immediately doubled over, one hand clasped over his masked mouth and the other wrapped around his burning midsection. Dammit. He sunk to his knees as he coughed up his own warm sticky blood. Damn it all. 

He couldn't even see the creature anymore, what with all his coughing. Maybe it's for the best. Better they ran away rather than take advantage of his condition.

When he finally stopped and was able to properly breathe, the creature almost stole it from him again. They were standing right in front of him, unmoving. For a creature that barely came up to his knee (ignoring their pronged horns) they were rather intimidating. What could he say about it though, maybe it was just that he was a little light headed from the blood loss and inability to breathe properly.

The creature pulled out a little clawed hand. Drifter tensed. What were they-?

_Pap!_ The creature patted his helm. He knelt for a moment, confused. Then he realized what they were doing. 

Drifter sighed in relief, the little one wasn't hostile after all. Really, that was the only good thing about this whole situation. He returned the gesture and patted the small one’s head. 

Immediately his companion sprite flew from underneath his robes. It beeped at him, first flashing the medical symbol, then become upset that someone else was receiving attention and not it.

The creature jumped back, startled. Then, they took off the object on their back slowly. They made sure to keep eye contact with the Drifter as they did. Drifter thought they were trying to comfort him, but their ceaseless stare was kind of a little creepy. The object which the creature unsheathed looked sword-like, albeit with some strange modifications. Drifter stared, unsure what the creature planned to do with it.

The creature bonked his sprite with the flat of their weapon.

Drifter immediately grabbed for the sprite. He knew it was a hardy little thing, but even so. The bot looked shocked for a moment before sadly beeping at Drifter.

Drifter glared at the creature. They quickly sheathed their weapon after that.

Using the wall for support, Drifter pulled himself back up. He was still sore, but he'd manage. The small creature watched him do so, following him as he inspected the wall they were previously attempting to ascend. They took out the hook again in demonstration. Drifter held out an arm to stop them. He just needed a moment.

Drifter clicked his heels against the ground. Despite the weak and crumbling structure of the wall, the footholds weren't too poor. A quick chain dash would give him enough leverage and speed to climb without worrying about a fall. His companion sprite agreed, pinging him the okay.

Only one issue remained. The little one.

In order to help them, they'd have to allow him to pick them up and trust him enough not to let them fall. He tapped the wall, catching their attention.

His sprite flew forward, bringing up a small hub. He paused, thinking of what to say. Finally, he typed the message: [Would you like me to help you ascend this wall? If you would allow me to carry you, then I could quickly do so.] The companion sprite flashed this message on the projected screen. 

The creature looked at it. They cocked their head before taking out the weapon and pushing it through the formless screen. Upon seeing the fizzled effect of the hologram touching their weapon, they jumped up and down with excitement. They then shoved their arm through the screen and wriggled their tiny claws.

Drifter watched, confused. Then it dawned on him. The creature hadn't even registered the text he had put out. He leaned his head against the wall; just how far away was he that the most common form of writing was common no more? What to do, what to do?

He could try to speak. 

But what if the creature didn't even understand his dialect? Then all he would do was hurt his throat more for nothing. 

Then again, it was his last resort.

He crouched down beside the creature, just to make sure they would be able to hear him. The creature paused upon hearing his tapping again, forgetting about the screen. Drifter chose his words carefully, too much unnecessary talking helped absolutely no one.

“I can help you up,” he rasped, “but I need to carry you.”

The creature stared. Drifter’s heart sank, dammit, how else could he—?

The creature nodded at him and pulled on his cloak. Drifter sighed in relief. Thank god. They understood him. 

He scooped up the small creature in his arms, they were surprisingly cold, and placed them on his shoulder. He felt their strong little claws dig in to his cloak. Little pinpricks that could definitely cause some damage if they so well pleased. Drifter waited for them to situate themself before dashing upwards.

It worked. Once at the top, he skidded to a stop.

The area was much nicer than the one before. Well, it still was just a large cavern, but it now had engravings of sorts covering the walls. Advancing further forward revealed a large bashed in door. Beams of light and dust particles flew through the entrance.

Another thing to note was a large plaque with strange marks and other symbols littering the surface. He attempted to walk closer for further inspection, but was unable. The creature, which before this point had been content with staying on his shoulder, jumped forward and down. Their little claws gripped the Drifter's larger ones and pulled him along. 

He tried to resist, and his sprite tried to help in the matter, but the creature was persistent. In the end he allowed them to pull him along to the door.

Once at the door the creature released their iron grip. They looked to him expectantly and pointed to the land below. A small town lay in the middle of the drab gray haze. Small shining lights flickered on and off around it, separating the town from what surrounded it.

Drifter opened his mouth to once again ask the creature a question, but was ultimately cut off by them jumping down into whatever lay below. He cursed under his breath. He wouldn't be surprised if this little one was just a child.

He followed, not wanting to leave the child on their own.

-+-

The trek towards the town wasn't too far at all. That was good, the faster he got there the faster he could tell what the hell was going on.

The quaint little town was mostly abandoned. Houses lay decrepit and empty; dust and glass shards collected inside. Out of the corner in Drifter's eyes, he swore some houses had a presence still within. Dreamlike apparitions that reminded him too much of his own hallucinations. Turning to get a good look only proved to have said apparitions disappear. In order to ease his mind, he chalked it up to his own survival instinct and frayed nerves.

The houses that still remained in use had a much different feel to them. Yes, they still looked old and worn, but more so in a familiar way. They looked worn because of use, not so much age. These houses flickered from within. White light flowing from between the holed curtains.

In the middle of the small town, a bench formed out of twisted steel and iron sat. Three strange figures stood around it. One of which Drifter recognized immediately as the child creature. The others, not so much. A figure cloaked in red stood in front of the child, chastising them repeatedly. The other figure, wearing a bandanna and carrying a glowing teal tube, stood next to the red figure. That one looked extremely uncomfortable with the ongoing situation.

“Yes, yes of course I realize you've been around the whole kingdom before, but that is not an excuse for disappearing for so long! No, don't give me that look. You have been gone for the past couple days without so much as a word,” The red cloaked figure shouted, “I thought after the whole debacle with an angry moth and us almost dying would get the point across that we must stick together but no—”

“Hornet,” the one with the bandanna interrupted, “I don't think—”

“When Quirrel disappeared you weren't very happy, were you, Ghost!” Hornet shouted, pointing accusingly at Quirrel, “and after all, you look positively filthy! Where even were you!”

The little one, Ghost, pointed back in the direction of both Drifter and the caverns. Drifter froze as the two others fixed their gazes on him. 

Everything stopped for roughly a second before it all went to hell.

Hornet shouted something indiscernible and pulled out a long gleaming weapon with silk tied onto its curled end. She launched herself at Drifter. He, in turn, dashed back and unsheathed his own sword. The blue light of which illuminated the surrounding fog. Hornet scowled and threw her weapon, allowing it to bounce forward then back to her. Drifter dodged the initial attack, but was unprepared for the weapon’s trip back. A long, cruel gash of pink etched into his shoulder. He hissed as the sensation tore through his arm.

She took the advantage. Drifter barely had any time to parry her next attack, but he managed in time. His companion sprite beeped, displaying the medical symbol again.

Before the situation could escalate any further, Quirrel jumped into the fray, “Both of you, calm down—”

“Quirrel,” Hornet growled, “get away from him.”

“Especially you Hornet,” Quirrel sighed, “You're wound up and not thinking straight. Judging by how quickly the little Ghost pointed to him, I'm guessing he was there for a while. You know what that means?”

“That he was waiting to attack us?” Hornet retaliated half-heartedly.

Quirrel stared.

“Fine.” She sheathed her weapon, “If he does anything, just don't come crying to me.”

“Sure thing!” Quirrel said, shrugging Hornet's warning off.

The two bantered back and forth for some time, leaving Drifter alone in his thoughts. His sword retracted black into it's hilt as he used his free hand to grab his bloodied shoulder. His glove quickly became tacky. One step back, and then another. He frowned to himself, maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all.

He quickly turned to leave, readying his dash, when something grasped his leg. Drifter looked down to see the Ghost clinging to him. The tiny little claws digging into both his leggings and skin. He shook his leg in an effort to get them off, yet they still clung on. “I see they’ve already taken quite a liking to you, stranger,” Quirrel laughed, “I apologise for my friend,” he gestured towards Hornet, “She means well, I swear it.”

Hornet glared at him. Quirrel ignored her.

“I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot,” Quirrel reached out a claw, “I’m Quirrel, she is Hornet, and the one clinging to your leg is the little Ghost.”

Tentatively, Drifter reached his own claw out and shook Quirrel’s. Quirrel jumped back, “Your hand—” Quirrel’s gaze traveled from his blood soaked hand towards his bleeding shoulder. “You're bleeding stranger, are you alright?”

The companion sprite beeped more urgently now, making Quirrel jump again and flashing that damned symbol over and over. Drifter huffed and attempted to shoo it away as it showed a message that read: [blood levels low, please seek medical attention.]

Drifter took a step back; the ground swayed under his feet. He grabbed his head, suddenly aware of the blunt pain that began to echo inside. He heard Quirrel say something, but couldn't quite register it.

He pitched forward and the light faded from view.

-+-

Hornet stared Quirrel down from across his table. Her claws rested on the hilt of her needle, its point dug into Quirrel's already scuffed floor. Quirrel looked up from the tube he was busying himself with. “What is it, Hornet?”

“I can't believe you let him inside,” she narrowed her eyes, “You are _much_ too trusting, Quirrel.”

Quirrel shook his head, “And you are much too cynical. May I remind you who exactly is the reason why I had to bring him here. Who, also, struck first in the whole ordeal and wounded him. As well as—”

Hornet cut him off, “Fine, I guess you have a point scholar.” She fumbled with her needle some more before sheathing it. “It also seems the Little Ghost had already become rather attached to him.”

Quirrel laughed, “Yeah, I have an inkling of suspicion why,” he stood and placed the tube on the wall, it shimmered softly with a slight wave. “Can't say it wasn't a hassle trying to keep them off him though. The last thing he needs is Ghost jumping all over him while he heals.”

Quirrel pauses, suddenly hit with worry, “Say, Hornet, you sure you didn't hit him anywhere but his shoulder?”

“Yes, of course,” she answers, “Why you ask?”

Quirrel shrugs, his claws grazing over the set of tubes he recovered from the Archives. These were the ones yet to be completely deciphered, would they have the answers? “From what I checked, he’s lost too much blood to be from just a wound to the shoulder. I've avoided checking anywhere else on his body for privacy reasons, but the only other culprits are his bloodied mask and ragged breathing.” He glances back to Hornet, “I've checked the Madam’s research, and nothing came up to explain such a thing,” he looked down, “except…”

Hornet's face darkened, “You don't think it’s **her**, do you?” The words were drenched in venom. Her sharpened claws dug rivulets into the table. “I was _there_, I saw the aftermath. Both of my siblings almost died. I almost lost them again, Quirrel it can't be…” Her words tapered off and her marks on the table deepened. She shut her eyes tight and shook her head. “It can't…” she repeated, softer yet angrier.

Quirrel placed a gentle claw on her own, “I doubt that it is. This could be some other malady,” Quirrel carefully pried Hornet's claw from the table, preventing further harm to come to both herself and the rickety piece of furniture. “Funny really, sometimes I forget myself that there are other illnesses out their besides **hers** of course.”

Hornet untensed her body, her eyes slowly opening again. She placed an elbow on the table and leaned her head into it, “Thank you, Quirrel,” she said, “Sorry, um, for earlier...”

Quirrel didn't say anything, he simply nodded. Hornet liked that.


	2. Seriously Please Don't Become a Running Theme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel these first two chapters are easier to understand if posted back-to-back.

Drifter severely hoped that this wouldn't become a running theme. This was the second time. The second time he had passed out only to awaken to find himself being cared for in the bed of a stranger. He hated leaning on other people for help. Already, the thought that he was taking advantage of another person's kindness had wormed its way into his skull.

That sort of kindness got people killed. He'd seen it all, traveling from place to place. Loitering outside of a town he was passing through always proved to have something go wrong in the dark of night. Murder, robbery, prejudiced violence, all common events. Some of which were caused by drifters much like himself. 

It was already strange the first time it happened. He remembered it perfectly. His illness was especially bad that night, but instead of resting, he chose to ignore it. He was so close.

The rest grew fuzzy. He had found himself unable to breathe between the hacking and the blood. He had fallen to the ground, black tendrils of unconsciousness seeping through his eyes and into his mind.

When he came to, he found himself not where he originally fell.

So, to have this happen a second time was strange, except this time he awoke not to the familiar sight of another person but another creature entirely.

Upon awakening, he had found himself unable to register anything. A haze covered everything in his mind. He stayed in that state for a while. Not truly awake but not exactly asleep either. That is, until he felt a sudden weight fall on his chest out of nowhere. He looked to see what could possibly be on top of him and was welcomed by the sight of a gleaming white head and two empty sockets that bore into his very being.

The name “Ghost” made a lot more sense now. 

Drifter flinched at the sight, only aggravating his sore body more than it already was. He weakly coughed. Luckily, no blood came up. Good, his mask was already bloodied enough.

Ghost either didn't notice his flinch, or didn't care. They softly patted him with their claws. Drifter did the same, sliding his own arm from underneath the thick blankets to poke the Little Ghost. “You almost gave me a heart attack,” he whispered. Ghost patted him harder.

Drifter tore his attention away from the little one long enough to survey the room. It was cozy, quaint, a little messy but still had an aura of put-togetherness. Glowing teal tubes lay scattered around. Some placed in bundles while others were separated. Plaques lined the walls, each covered in writings that Drifter couldn't decipher.

Speaking of which.

The companion sprite was nowhere to be found. Its signature beeps and buzzes were absent entirely. Under normal circumstances the sprite would either come to a hovering halt beside him, or duck under his cloak and hide. He winced and pulled himself into a sitting position, shuffling the little Ghost and causing them to slide backwards. They tumbled off the bed in a magnificent sweep.

“Sorry,” he said. Sometimes he couldn't tell if his voice sounded so bad because of the illness or because of disuse. “I can't seem to find my sprite, have you seen it?”

The little one looked at him on the ground. Their expression unreadable. 

Drifter held his hand up, bobbing it up and down in the hope that they would understand. “My companion.”

Ghost stared some more, customary by this point, then shuffled forward. They launched themself on the bed. They stared, unmoving and silent, before pulling open their strange cloak and pointing to the middle of their chest. To say that this made no sense to the Drifter was an understatement.

Drifter opened his mouth to ask something, but could only manage a cough instead. Ghost shook their head and pointed again. Then, their hand sank into the middle of their chest, elbow deep. Drifter narrowed his eyes,_ did they just ripple?_ Their form stayed solid everywhere else, only melting where their tiny arm touched.

After rummaging through their, what seemed to be, insides, they pulled out the familiar sight of his companion sprite. 

He ignored the sickening sensation at watching, well, whatever he just watched. The sprite wiggled in the Ghost’s grip. Dazed it must be. When it finally regained it's bearings, it let out a chorus of angry and indignant beeps. The sprite flew out if the Little Ghost's claws, only to fly right up to their face. The Ghost didn't move. 

Quicker than Drifter could process, Ghost whipped out their weapon and bonked the sprite on the head again. If the Sprite could scream, Drifter guessed this was how. It let off the shrillest whistle it could and started repeatedly ramming itself into the Ghost’s head. Ghost, in turn, started to clap their little claws together. Their head bobbed up and down in amusement as the sprite did its best.

Drifter pulled the blanket over his head. Children, he was dealing with children. Why were children like this?

“Ghost what do you think you’re doing,” a voice, which Drifter recognized as the one named Hornet said. Drifter peeked out from under the blankets.

Ghost shrugged and batted the companion sprite away with ease. The sprite flew across the room from the unexpected force of the strike; a long, drawn out, pitiful beep exited its speaker as it rammed into the wall and slid down comically. Hornet hissed and jumped backwards in fright. Ghost bobbed up and down at this, silently laughing.

Hornet looked like she was going to retaliate somehow, before covering her face with her palm and walking out the door. No words, no angry expression, only the pure essence of no longer being able to care.

Quirrel, on the other hand, still cared. “Please don't wreck my house little one,” he moved to where the sprite lay on the ground. It still was on, somehow, and continued to flash angry symbols at Ghost. Quirrel stared, lost in thought, before picking up the small robot. It squeaked at the sudden contact but stayed still nonetheless. Quirrel held it high, the sprite held softly between his pointed claws, taking the time to inspect it at all angles. “Fascinating…” Quirrel looked to the Drifter, pointing at the stunned sprite, “Tell me friend, where did you get this? It's amazing, one of the only things I've seen that rivals the Madam's handiwork.”

Drifter, albeit unsure where his discomfort stemmed, tensed upon hearing this stranger call him a “friend” of all things. It had to be his cynicism. Yes, that was what it was. At least the way this stranger said it didn't drip with the intent of buttering him up now to backstab him later. 

Still, he commented, voice run ragged as ever, “Friend?”

Quirrel smiled, “Given how the Little Ghost has taken to you, I can only presume as such.”

Drifter looked to the child that had smacked his sprite across the room like it was nothing, “Fair.”

The sprite squeaked again; Quirrel let go, allowing it to fly back to its owner. Drifter watched as it arced a rather large distance around the Ghost before returning to his side. He pushed the blanket off, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He would have stood up, but was stopped by the Little Ghost. They clung onto his arm. He shook it. No response. Drifter looked to Quirrel for assistance.

“Sorry stranger, but I’m afraid you should stay in bed,” Quirrel ignored Drifter's look of disdain and continued, “Your injuries from the scuffle with Hornet are fine, but you are sick.”

_No shit,_ Drifter thought. He rolled his eyes, thankful that no one could actually tell when he did so. Actually that proved false here, Quirrel seemed to notice. Damn, turns out when everyone has weird eyes like yours it gets infinitely easier to tell if you're being an ass.

Drifter tried to speak. Instead, he coughed out a mixture of words and blood. Quirrel jumped up, quickly grabbing some nearby towels— they must have been placed there for the wound cleanup— and handing them to the Drifter. Drifter pulled off his soaked mask and wiped off his bloodied face.

Embarrassing. Especially so with Quirrel's staring. Great, even here they didn't like him.

Quirrel seemed to notice the Drifter's discomfort; however, before he could speak, Drifter cut him off. “I'm not sure how you hadn't noticed it before, but if you have such a problem with it, I’ll—” Drifter choked as a fresh wave of blood exited his mouth. He shoved his face back into the towel.

Quirrel looked… Quizzical maybe? “What? Why would I have a problem with your sickness; I brought you inside my home didn't I? It doesn't even seem contagious…” Quirrel's voice trailed off as he started listing off what sounded like different illnesses of different sorts. Each one was almost familiar, in a way, but rang no significant bells in his head. 

If anything, Drifter was glad it wasn't due to his being a blue-skinned. That would certainly make a lot of things easier.

Speaking of making things easier.

“Quirrel?” he choked out, the copper tang of blood still coating his mouth. Quirrel didn't respond, still caught up in trying to figure out Drifter's ailment. 

Drifter tried again, but this time he used the little Ghost to get his attention. 

The Ghost was very good at getting attention. All Drifter did was make eye contact and nod his head towards Quirrel. It was then the Ghost sprung into action and rammed into Quirrel, the poor guy expecting none of it. He yelped and almost collided with the cold, hard floor. Ghost pointed to Drifter, not exactly accusingly but definitely in a way that blamed him. 

Quirrel righted himself, “Sorry, I must have gotten lost in thought again.” 

Drifter nodded, smiling for the first time in a while to show that there was no hard feelings whatsoever.

-+-

Quirrel was kind of alright.

That is to say, Drifter didn't have a problem with him before, but now knowing him better had made him rethink his stance. Quirrel, despite not knowing anything about what Drifter was attempting to do, listened in earnest. He connected the dots to what he knew and continued from there. 

Quirrel especially liked the sprite and its capabilities. Drifter hoped the sprite wouldn't gain an ego due Quirrel's praise. The damn thing didn't need any more compliments to preen itself with. He swore that the sprite's beeps had become slightly more prideful, even if no one else would notice.

Communication became easier. Much easier. After explaining hoarsely to Quirrel that he needed some written text for his sprite to scan and compartmentalize, Quirrel went above and beyond what Drifter expected of him. It seemed he was lucky enough to land in the house of a bookworm.

“I have some lying around, if you wouldn't mind me leaving you alone I could go get a few.”

Drifter nodded. That would be nice. A few books was all he needed. Vocabulary wouldn't be high, but he'd be able to get his points across.

Quirrel quickly departed (with the Ghost following close behind) and returned with not a few. Quirrel brought in a whole pile of strange slabs with chalky writings on the flattened sides. Ghost also brought their own huge pile of slabs, which instead of placing them carefully like Quirrel, they dumped them all on the table in a clatter. 

Turned out he’d have the biggest damn vocabulary in the forsaken place. Second to Quirrel of course.

Drifter inched closer. He picked up a slab, holding it tenderly as if it was porcelain. Moderately lightweight for being made of stone. Hardy as well, the chalk didn't brush away when Ghost rustled through the stack.

Quirrel watched. “I hope this is enough. I've never really dealt with something like this...”

Drifter tilted his head and shrugged. In a way, neither did Drifter, but he made do. He opened up a control tab on his sprite. Quirrel watched closely, not just with the curiosity the Ghost possessed. The way he watched held more weight than that. Drifter froze, unused to being watched, then ultimately decided to push his worries aside. Wasn't his business. 

Drifter tapped on the projected screen, then shut it off. He poked the sprite and pointed to the slabs. It instantly began to scan. Every completed slab ended with a satisfactory beep before continuing onto the next. On and on it went. Scan, beep, repeat. As boring as Drifter found the process to be, Quirrel watched with undivided attention. 

Quirrel noticed Drifter's stare. Immediately he apologised. “Sorry my friend! As I said before, I've never seen anything quite like this. I have to say I'm intrigued.” He tore his gaze away from the sprite, “Say, I hope it doesn't come off strange when I say that I've also grown intrigued by you. Like your little device, you are completely different than anything I have ever seen even in my past experience.” Quirrel laughed, “I'm afraid I don't even know your name after all.”

The sprite squeaked, beeping the all clear. With a zoom and a twirl, it perched itself on Drifter's open palm. A medium sized screen flickered into existence. Drifter tapped his claw on the hard-light surface. A new option, reading something unknown to Drifter but recognizable in style, glowed strong and clear.

He prayed to whatever god would listen that it would work.

A few clicks on the hologram’s keyboard and he was done. He didn't understand the translated text himself, but he hoped Quirrel did.

[Call me Drifter.]

“Drifter? Seems more akin to a title than a name, but I will oblige my friend.”

Relief flooded Drifter's chest. He audibly sighed, loud enough to make Quirrel laugh. Thank the damned gods. Really, if he wasn't trying to act so strong and stoic he'd probably be crying tears of god given joy. He wouldn't though. 

The Ghost stared at the text as well. They nodded in understanding and pointed to themself. Quirrel patted them on the head, “Hmm, I guess your name is technically a title as well Little Ghost.” Ghost nodded, pointing back and forth between themself and Drifter.

That gave the two of them something in common.

[As you can probably tell, I am not from here. Under some circumstances I am not even sure about, I have arrived here. I have no recollection of such events and hope to return back to where I once came.] The words shimmered on the hologram's screen. Quirrel folded his arms, staring for an exceedingly long time before finally speaking.

“Well, first off, I'm surprised at the length of your statement. Really, I thought you were one of few words,” he laughed nervously. “Second off, what are you planning next, and do you require assistance?”

Drifter waved him off. [I have already inconvenienced you enough by this point. You do not need to concern yourself with my trials; I will find a way to figure it out myself.]

“My friend I insist--”

[No.]

“You're not bothering me at all--”

[No.]

“Please--”

[No.]

Drifter counted himself lucky for the amount of patience Quirrel possessed. If Hornet were here, a needle would likely be shoved down his throat. But Quirrel, bless his soul, took a deep breath, counted to ten, and placed a hand to his face.

“You do realize, by not telling me what you plan to do, you are technically inconveniencing me,” he spoke softly and calmly. The tone was practiced. Frequently used by the sound of it. Knowing his red cloaked friend Drifter had an inkling why that was so.

But more importantly, Drifter felt every part of his body tense. _Oh no,_ was the only words that could come to mind. Quirrel was right of course, not telling him was just causing him more problems; however, having him roped in with Drifter's never ending crisis didn't help either. 

Quirrel watched Drifter, knowing all too well of the internal monologue that he’d seen rushed through Hornet as well. Funny, as different and clashing as the two were, they were strikingly similar as well. Both wanted to solve their problems themselves. Quirrel glanced at the bloodied mask that Drifter had worn. _Maybe even at their own expense._

Again --this was becoming all too common-- Quirrel was jolted out of his thoughts. Drifter threw his arms up in the air dramatically, the Ghost sitting on top of his shoulder poking his cheek, and audibly shouted in his hoarse and mangled voice, “Fine!”

Quirrel chastised himself for how smug he felt. “So what is it that you are planning to do?”

One arm trying to shove off the Ghost and the other attempting to type, he wrote: [You know what: fine. If you really must know, I plan to build myself a warp pad. Of what, I don't know, but I already have the blueprints for such a thing.] 

The sprite shuddered and released another hologram, this one showing instructions. [I am not sure how or if I can even manage it.] Drifter paused. [But my life has already been me working on the remains of a barely existent hope, and I've made it this far.]

Quirrel stood, glancing closer at the projected screen. He shoved away his awe of the magnificent display if technology and instead focused himself onto the task at hand. He hovered his claw over a screen, hesitant. 

“May I?” He asked. Drifter nodded.

He pushed around the interactive screen. Getting a grip on the mechanics of the system was difficult, but if his study and viewing of how Drifter used the device had any merit, he figured it out soon enough. His curiosity inched closer yet again; he shooed it off. _Not now, focus on the task at hand._

He tapped an area that read something along the lines of: ENERGY HOMING. The screen displayed a link from that to an image of a bright green crystal. He poked it, reading the properties of such. “I guess you're in luck for this particular segment,” Drifter perked up, “while the structure and mannerisms of the crystals in the peak are different from what exists in your 'Crystal Forest,’ both can function for the same purpose.”

Another tap, this time on to the base of the warp pad. “The metal here? It's rare, but maybe pale ore could suffice. It's actually what the Ghost's nail is made of. Not sure where to find it though.”

The Ghost took their own turn to perk up. jumped to their feet and pointed down. Each point was more forceful than the last. Eventually, either they were tired of pointing or realized the two adults didn't understand, they whipped out their map. It crumpled on the floor in a heap. Ghost pointed vigorously at the spot labeled “Deepnest.”

Quirrel paled. “I guess our little friend knows of an area where you can get some.” He wrung his claws, “When you do I urge you to bring Hornet along with you.” Ghost shot him a look. “Yes yes, Ghost I know you've been there but Hornet grew up there. I mean I’ve traversed those danger-filled halls and I am not volunteering.” Another look. “No it's not because I'm scared, far from it actually!”

Drifter clicked his claws on the table, bringing the two’s bickering to a halt. Quirrel cleared his throat, “My apologies.”

The screen was shuffled around some more. “Not all of this is completely necessary. Most seem to be here for a sort of regenerative purpose, but there is something missing from our triad of things.”

Ghost stared at the shimmering screen. Their pitch eyes swirling with… something. Drifter couldn't place it. 

Another box caught their eye. A glowing liquid material. They pounced, hitting the box with their claws and bringing it up in full. The map pulled once again in their hands, they pointed to another location labeled: Teacher's Archives. 

Quirrel blinked, stunned. “Oh, of course! The acid, while dangerous can be used to transport different types of energy,” he gestured to the surrounding vials and jars littered around the three, “and these are proof of it! The jars here cannot be used, as they already are in use, but the Archive has an abundance of the stuff. That would be perfect. Thank you Ghost.” He patted the Ghost’s head. They placed their hands on their sides and held themself up triumphantly.

[Thanks.] Drifter clicked off the screen displaying the warp instructions and opened a new one. [Crystals; Pale ore; Archive water.]

Quirrel squinted at the last item on the list. “It is not called 'Archive water.’ The technical term is actually-- Wait you can't be serious!” Quirrel watched as Drifter stood up, unhindered by the Ghost's clinging, and began to make his way to the door. “You’re sick! And injured! Please, I implore you to rest.”

The Drifter shrugged, checking the clasps on his cloaks and resecuring his face mask (he made a mental note to wash it out when he got a chance.) The sprite beeped and squeaked, hovering around his shoulder like a little lookout.

Quirrel sighed and stood, crossing his arms and speaking as stern as he could. “Please, I understand the want to rush into things like this, but really, it is better to allow yourself to heal.”

In response, Drifter pulled out a medkit. He clicked it open. With careful claws, he pulled out the green glowing syringe inside. Quirrel tensed. “What are you--?”

Drifter shoved it into his chest. 

Immediately he hissed in pain. The scorching sensation of the medicine knitting together all lacerations and superficial wounds. It was a quick fix and a way not to bleed your guts all over the floor for sure, but Drifter knew that it did nothing for fatal or heavy internal damage. In that scenario the only use for it would be the antibiotics.

Quirrel grabbed his arm, preventing him from keeling over. He flinched from the sudden contact and Quirrel immediately let go, letting Drifter fall to the floor with a groan.

“Sorry, I didn't realize…” He offered the grounded Drifter a hand and pulled him up.

[It’s fine.] Drifter quickly typed. [Medicine hurts.] He started coughing again. This time there was no blood at least.

Quirrel shuddered, “Please at least let this sickness pass before you go.”

Drifter violently shook his head. “Won't pass,” he said between hacks, “will be with me till the day I die.” He chose to type the rest once he finished his coughing fit. [Nothing will help. Only solution is to kill it at its source.]

Quirrel and Drifter stayed quiet for a moment. Let it sink in. 

Silence was shattered by the Ghost. They began to visibly shake again with fear. Clutching at their cloak as a way to calm themself, they silently broke down. 

_Hadn't they killed **her?** Had they failed? Had they failed once again?_ They shook their head, increasingly becoming more and more upset.

It clicked.

Quirrel ducked down, close enough to let the Ghost hug him without just clinging to his legs.

“Ghost, I don't think this illness has to do with **her,**” Quirrel said in between the tiny creature’s sobs, “The symptoms are all wrong for that. Remember? He'd be loopy, half there and half in dream.” The Ghost pointed towards Drifter's bloodstained mask. Quirrel sighed, “If he was coughing up infection, it'd be orange remember?”

This continued. Drifter stood there, unsure of what to do in a situation such as this. He waited in the doorframe, unwilling to just walk away from the crying child. Eventually Ghost seemed to finally calm. They rubbed their inky black tears away from their pitch black eyes. 

After giving them an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder, Quirrel stood again to face the Drifter. “If you really must go, please allow the little one to accompany you.” He faltered, fumbling his hands and avoiding eye contact. “But please also remember you are welcome anytime into my home. A friend of Ghost is a friend of mine, and it would be wrong to not extend my hand to a person in need.” He stopped himself again. “And, if you ever do need assistance in anything, I will be there to assist you in arms. I may not look like much, and may not be as good as I used to be, but I am equipped with the knowledge of how to use a nail.”

It was all too familiar. This weird sense of deja-vu. Hadn't that been what the Guardian had said to him. Drifter frowned, already feeling rather guilty. But declining this offer would be heartless… Worse than accepting it and placing his burden onto Quirrel.

So he accepted. He hoped his thanks would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drifter please chill you're perfectly fine.


	3. Snails are Cute but This One Makes Me Nervous.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost takes a slight detour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: i have updated the previous chapters to include little things like italicized/bolded words and little things that were in my original doc but was still getting used to how this place worked.
> 
> Also, thank you all so much for your kind words, it really means alot <3.

It wasn't so bad, having the Ghost with him. Each of the steps they took had purpose. They walked around with ease; an ease Drifter himself recognized as as sort of familiarity and comfort in their surroundings. They knew the surrounding area and must have traveled it many a time.

Before they left, Quirrel had given Drifter a crash course in the different zones of Hallownest, which was the first time Drifter ever heard of this name. While some things still evaded his memory, he still remembered the important zones. The one the two traveled now being the Forgotten Crossroads. Didn't seem as forgotten as the name led him to believe. Some critters still roamed the area if he could trust the glimpses he got in the corner of his eyes. Strange wilted orange puddles and deflated pustules littered the surroundings. 

Though, judging by how the Ghost was walking away from where they were supposed to be going, Drifter couldn't help but think they were taking a slight detour. He didn't remark upon this, but still, he couldn't help but be a little concerned.

The companion sprite was having the time of its life at least. Shrill clicks, whistles, and beeps exited its little speaker as it inspected every nook and cranny it could shove itself into.

That was how Drifter knew something was off. The sprite stopped, scanned, then flew back towards Drifter. It nestled itself under his cloak, shaking and shuddering.

“Ohohoho, my little friend! Hello there, checking on your sibling aren't you!” A figure slunk from the surrounding pieces of bone and wood. She pointed her staff at Drifter, “Oh! I didn't know you brought a friend! A strange one too!” She laughed again.

She walked closer; her staff raised high towards Drifter. “Very strange… Why is it that you keep bringing me those sickly and dying types hmm?” 

[What?] Drifter asked, forcing his sprite back out so that he could speak. It didn't appreciate that; the sprite used the first opportunity it had to duck back underneath into his cloak.

Ghost shook their head vigorously and tapped the ground with their nail. They pointed their little claws towards the structure behind the figure and then to themself again. 

“So you came here just to see your sibling?”

They nodded.

“What, so you didn't want to see me?” The figure added with a pitiful wobble in her voice, “You are so cruel.”

Ghost jumped at this statement and dug one foot into the ground. Their nail was once sheathed again and their arms were crossed. They looked to Drifter, then to the strange one.

She waved her hand, “Ohohoho, don't get so angry little one! I jest, I jest. Come on now, don't dally any longer, your sibling has probably woken up from your commotion by now,” Ghost glared at her, which she ignored to instead focus on Drifter, “As for you! You can call me the Snail Shaman.”

Drifter guessed she looked a little like a snail, though the ones he'd seen were much cuter and less creepy. 

The Snail Shaman turned and walked away from the fuming Ghost and the confused Drifter. She turned, “Well, you coming?”

-+-

Everything about the place practically screamed dangerous. It was held up by rotten wooden supports; bones and empty chitin scattered the surrounding floor. Masks were tied to poles around the Shaman's “house,” which was made of bones. Hell, even the bench looked to be made of what looked to be made of ribs from a much larger beast.

Right outside the house, the one known as “sibling” stood crouched over. Their resemblance to the Ghost was hard to ignore, even if they were much bigger and much, much more imposing. They had the same oddly shiny black chitin that covered their form coupled with the pearlescent white mask-like head. What stuck out immediately however was the bandages that covered their torso and one eye. One arm was missing as well. Every breath was shaky and unsure, matching the equally shaky way they moved.

Ghost broke into a sprint, running headfirst into their siblings side. They didn't flinch really, like any else did at Ghost’s shenanigans, but they did noticeably tense up before slowly looking down. They used their remaining arm to pet the spot between the Ghost's two pronged horns. They leaned into the touch. When the elder sibling attempted to pull away, the Ghost placed their claws atop of theirs, holding it in place.

Drifter practically felt his cold dead heart melt. 

“Those two are cute, aren't they?” the shaman said, totally ruining the moment. The siblings pulled away from each other, staring at the Shaman. Drifter shot her a look. “Ohoho! Rather serious aren't you? No matter, come on you two,” she waved her hand at the siblings, “break it up now. Tell me, my little friend, why are you _truly_ here?”

Ghost shrugged and pointed at their larger sibling.

“Only to see them? No strings attached? Nothing else at all?”

Ghost shrugged again, before reluctantly pulling out what looked to be a small pickaxe out of their… Drifter presumed from their cloak, even if reality proved otherwise.

“Oh! Well, I did see them mending that old thing recently. They wouldn't tell me why. Drove me up the wall with my own curiosity.” She giggled to herself, “Could I ask if you’d indulge me on your secrets?”

They shook their head and shoved the pickaxe back under their cloak.

“Ohoho, you three really do love your secrets. Leaving little old me in the dark about absolutely everything. So sad so sad,” she wiped away a little fake tear, “and now you'll just leave me here, left to my own devices while Hollow just naps like always.” True to her word (shockingly) Hollow was already curled up and sleeping soundly.

“Now what about your friend here? Didn't even let him say anything,” she inched closer, jabbing Drifter with her staff once again. “He doesn't look too well~”

Drifter yelped, moving back from her intrusive jabs, “I’m fine!”

“Not with your voice sounding like you had a buzzsaw shoved down your throat!”

“Excuse me!?”

Ghost clasped Drifter's hand in their own, giving him the subtle look of, “Please just ignore her she's weird like this,” before leading him away from the giggling Shaman.

He couldn't help but feel uneasy around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick things to add.  
1\. I don't think the Snail Shaman was ever confirmed to have a gender in game, but my friend and I found that it'd be fun if she was the kinda senile yet still cunning older lady.  
2\. Hollow lives with her due to her being beneficial to their recovery. Her shenanigans also don't seem to phase them.  
3\. They also like to mend and create objects in their free time, lets them express themself in a way and is calming.  
4\. This chapter was an excuse to write the siblings being happy for once because i have many feelings.


	4. These Elevators Suck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drifter has many thoughts about these sad excuses for elevators and none of them are good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How the hell does one write Bretta???

The rest of the trek went without any other detours. Drifter himself couldn't really tell where or how the Little Ghost knew where to go, but they did. 

Despite their lack of boosters, they were pretty good at scaling and climbing their way towards their destination. Their stamina was impeccable as well. Often times when there was a particularly steep or a jump that required quick and steady movements, they would just continue on as if nothing happened. The looming feeling of being a burden was only intensified by Drifter being the one to have to take a breather every so often. And Drifter wasn't even someone to be considered to excessively rest, often pushing through things even when his body screamed not to. The Guardian actually had to force him to stop and rest at times. 

Eventually, the two made it somehow. Drifter was sure that it wouldn't have been as hard to reach if Ghost hadn't made that detour earlier, but no matter. They were here now.

Bits and pieces of pink crystal were visible even outside the mine. Lanterns dotted the outside, providing some light, but were proved unnecessary. Some crystals gave off a light of their own. A soft, warm glow.

Upon entrance, Drifter couldn't help but to hear the sound of distant singing coupled with a slightly off tune humming. Ghost heard it too, rushing forth to meet the source.

Two figures sat together. The humming one had a little book in one hand and a quill in the other. Next to her sat the one who was doing most of the singing. The two held hands as they read and wrote in the book.

The scampering Ghost made the singing one stop with a gasp. “Oh h-hello friend. I-I haven't seen y-you in- in a while!” She hopped off her perch, running towards the Ghost. “Oh, w-who is th-that behind you?”

Drifter waved, [I’m Drifter, just passing by.] The companion sprite bobbed in agreement.

“Hello Drifter,” she said, “M-my name is Myla, and th-this is Bretta,” she gestured behind herself to the other figure. Bretta jumped up at hearing her name. Myla patted her arm, “It's okay, look!”

“Oh, uh, hi…” Bretta said; she hugged her book to her chest, “It's nice to meet you…”

“Y-yeah! And--” Myla cut herself short. “Th-thank you! Thank you! My pickaxe!” While Drifter was distracted with Bretta, Ghost had handed Myla the very same pickaxe their sibling had mended earlier. “It's as g-good as new! P-please tell your sibling of m-my thanks!” Myla practically beamed. She gave a few practice swings with the tool, testing its weight. “A-actually, it's even better than n-new!”

“You look so cool Myla,” Bretta said. The awe was hard to miss as she stared. She lit up, opening her book to flip through the remaining pages; her quill scratched the paper in relentless strokes. “That gives me an idea! Look, see? The wandering maiden and singing knight could run into a gastly beast of crystal shell, and before the creature could even lay a hand on the poor maiden, the melodical knight could step in right on time! Her trusty pickaxe by her side to protect her lovely maiden!”

Being completely honest, Drifter had no clue what half the words that came out of Bretta’s mouth meant. It made her happy though, and by the way Myla was flustered by it said anything, maybe he didn't need to know. Maybe it wasn't something he was meant to understand.

Ghost understood, and Drifter swore he saw them stare at the two before shaking their head and shrugging.

Drifter caught the memo. [Thank you two for your time, but we must leave now,] he typed. Both girls brought their excited chatter to a halt.

Myla bounced on the balls of her feet, “O-oh, s-sorry. Thanks for s-seeing us!” She waved her pickaxe, “And th-thanks for my pickaxe!”

“Goodbye,” Bretta softly said. “Stay safe.”

-+-

Drifter thought the elevators back at the four zones were bad, but these took the cake of bad. See, the ones back there were nerve-racking, of course, but at least they were somewhat steady. Even if they had no guard rails to speak of.

But these, these sorry excuses for elevators made Drifter want to scream.

First of all, they were not at all technologically fashioned. So while they did have guard rails and all that, they were not smooth at all. If anything they felt like a poorly made casket, and Drifter wasn't dead enough to be placed in a casket just yet.

What made these move was a simple pulley system. Not terrible, after all pulleys were just a type of simple machine, but being on the shakiest elevator in existence surrounded by jagged crystals and hard stone made these a pulley-powered Hell.

His companion sprite floated around his head. Of course it felt his rising nerves and amounting terror. It couldn't understand, being perpetually floating, but it sympathized with Drifter nonetheless. Shoving itself into the palm of his hand, it chirped and nuzzled his fingers. Such a sweet little thing. Well, when it wasn't being a little shit.

Ghost had no qualms riding these deathtraps. Little claws patted the rails. Their head bobbed up and down as if singing a silent little song. 

When the creaking death-trap halted at last, Drifter wasted no time jumping off. Vertigo made him brace his arms against a nearby wall. A hand laid over his eyes in a feeble attempt to shoo the dizzying feeling away. 

While he recovered from that horrid, terrible, downright awful experience of an elevator that he knew Alt would just tell him to stop exaggerating about, the little Ghost cheerfully stepped down off the platform. Skipping… Something that even in the short time Drifter spent with them, did not feel in character.

A second passes.

[You're taunting me, aren't you?] 

Ghost shrugged, paused, put a hand to where a mouth would be, then nodded.

[Of course.]

Before Drifter truly could give them a piece of his mind, he had already been silenced by the soft glow that lay ahead. Hundreds, maybe thousands of beautiful, pink crystals dotted and filled the somber cave walls. Clinking mixed with the fragile sounds of echoed singing bounced from wall to wall. A haunted melody. Had to be.

Quirrel had said not many bugs lived in these forgotten mines. And the few who did had been wiped out by, well, something. He didn't say exactly what of course, but Drifter didn't press. The way Quirrel had spoken of it, Drifter could tell he didn't exactly want to know.

Better not to really.

Further in was where the crystals they needed lied. Despite knowing this, Drifter still opted for his sprite to scan a nearby crystal. Not to his surprise, the crystal didn't even have enough charge to teleport his sprite. Hell, it probably couldn't teleport a single one of his boosters.

It was pretty though.

So it began, the scenic route to the depths of this cavern, towards the source of all the crystal’s energy. The name remained unknown to both Drifter and Quirrel, but Ghost jumped and wiggled their little weapon at hearing the description of the object. So, the Ghost led the way. Their mannerisms and actions proved they knew enough about the place not to get themself killed. Even so, Drifter couldn't help having those subtle feelings of panic wash over him when something went even slightly wrong for them.

One such occasion particularly proved to be a good example of this feeling of dread.

The Ghost ran ahead of Drifter. Surprisingly fast for having such tiny little legs. A spritely little thing they were. Luckily for Drifter, he could easily catch up thanks to his boosters. Dashing forward was no problem.

Even with barely a face to speak of, there was just something about their body language that just emanated childish playfulness. It hadn't really hit Drifter till now, the fact that this being--the same one that has easily shown a sense of strength and general knowledge of using a weapon-- was just a _child_.

These thoughts were yanked away at the very last second. The Ghost had stopped their little game of chase and had halted to the side of a break in the ground. The beginning of a chasm it seemed. Drifter stopped his boosters, skidding to a stop beside the little one.

One look down was full of nothing but sharp jagged edges and most likely certain doom. If either one of them fell… It wouldn't exactly be pretty.

Another glance down actually showed someone who suffered that fate. Drifter didn't spend too long staring, even if he was accustomed to the intricate nature and spontaneity of death. It happened all the time. Hell, he wasn't too far from it. But… Maybe it was because of his recent revelation of the Ghost. A sad, sort of protective feeling. He hadn't felt it for so long. Sure, the children that he knew were always those he'd wish for the utmost safety of, but he'd always had a distance placed. His travels would have him placed apart in no time. He also knew, from experience, that death didn't exactly discriminate.

Getting attached wasn't something he liked to risk. Hurt too much.

Ghost, in the meantime, focused on trying to find a way across the desolate chasm. How did they get past it last time? Crystal dashing across was definitely a no. The heart had rested much lower, and they couldn't exactly bring Drifter along with them.

Their eyes rested upon several suspended platforms. Yes! That was their original route! Not exactly the safest, as the clusters of crystal often caused the makeshift metal plates to overturn, but they didn't feel the need to complain. Whatever it took, they'd do it. Nothing too great an obstacle. 

Their new friend might not be too enthusiastic about it however. Eh, he'd be on board in no time. 

Ghost wasn't exactly the best at teamwork, but what did that matter!

So, without even the slightest of warnings, they jumped forwards. They ignored Drifter's shout and landed atop one platform. It shook with their meager weight, before flipping over to show its piercing underside. Ghost was fast though, quickly leaping ahead, one after the other. Drifter would soon realize he could follow. The tell-tale squeak of the platforms turning right side up would give him the memo.

And it did. Drifter cursed under his breath. Of course, what did he expect. A child _would_ do something seemingly stupid without even a little warning before. His boosters activated, and with an array of color, he jumped forward to follow.

The Ghost turned back every so often. Playfully taunting Drifter like a child would do. Tag? Was Drifter playing tag? It sure seemed like it. Nevertheless, Ghost was distracted.

A lethal thing, distraction was. The end of the not structurally sound platforms was identical to the cliff the two wanderers originally came, but was populated by two unknown creatures. Or, unknown to the Drifter. The appearance was similar to the creatures he’d seen within the West Zone. The inhabitants of the Crystal Forest, while not all suffered from this, always had the plague of having those parasitic crystals growing within their bodies. Green, emerald-like crystalline structures that painfully grew out of their hosts. 

These things, while not mangled and torn like the bodies back in the Zones, still had that presence of unease. Little, flying bugs with pink shards glistening from their ventral side.

Drifter shouted. The words didn't come out exactly as he hoped, but he still hoped the message would be understood. It wasn't. Ghost still seemed to think is was just a game. Playful fun.

They landed on the cliff surface, arms thrown up like they won a race or something equally as spectacular.

And then the first shard was fired.

Ghost whipped their head around, their weapon flashing in an instant, barely knocking the attack away from themself. They flinched, throwing themself into the range of the second fired shard. It would hit them.

Would have at least. Drifter, right on their tail and aware of the danger beforehand, was able to spare them from the blasted shard at a price. Drifter blamed himself; the injury could have been avoided if he'd hadn't been so sloppy. Fear of the child’s well being clouded whatever skills he had up his sleeves.

And, he felt okay about that. Mentally of course. Physically he wanted to cry out with the blossoming pain beginning in his shoulder. The sprite let out a shrill squeak of terror. Not even daring to show the alert it normally would.

He halted, clutching the Ghost in his arms, stopping himself from vaulting even further. The wetness of his blood told him that the crystals had indeed pierced through his cloak into his skin. He cursed, that was going to have to be washed out too now. Along with his mask, and his bandage from his fight with Hornet, and his gloves.

Okay maybe he just needed a bath in general but now was not the time to be thinking about that.

In a leap, Ghost phased out of his grip, leaving a freezing cold feeling in their wake. They slashed the first creature from above, killing it instantly. Then, from the air they gained from the first kill, they went in for the second, falling to the ground with the newly torn open and shattered beasts.

Black tears ran from their empty eyes as they stood, shaking. They didn't leave their spot. Only staring with their silent sobbing.

[Ghost?]

They didn't answer. More quiet sobs wracked their body; they fell to the ground, attempting to cover their face from Drifter's eyes.

He pulled his own mask down, taking a few deep--as deep as he could--breaths. He stood, shaking. The crystals in his shoulder and arm tore his flesh with any subtle movement. Stifling his cries, he moved himself over to the Ghost, taking a claw to place on their head much like he saw their sibling do.

“Hey…” Drifter rasped, “its okay.” Oh gods he was terrible at this. _Better to try than to not,_ he thought. Ghost trembled a little more; their tiny little arms wrapped around Drifter's leg. They leaned on him, spilling freezing black tears and staining his cloak. Yet another thing to add to the list pertaining the reasons he was going to have to wash it soon. 

His arm still throbbed with pain, drilling into him that he _really needed to heal._ The crystals, even if they lacked the infectious corrupting quality of the ones inside the Crystal Forest, would still need to be removed somehow. And that would be both painful, and incredibly time consuming. What with the lack of any real medicine or at least the injections. Well, that and the fact being the currently crying child attached to his leg.

A newfound clatter echoed throughout the cavern. Drifter braced himself. His arm grazed the hilt of his sword. Lucky was he… The incapacitated arm was not his sword arm. He wasn't totally defenseless for the time being. 

Ghost flinched, knowing and recognizing the noise. The clinking noise of those flying menaces. They must have been alerted by their comrades' deaths. They detached themself--which actually took a while due to them having to unhook their itty bitty claws--and actually did grab the hilt of their nail. They messed up once and allowed their friend to get hurt. Their carelessness caused this; he only got hurt because he was trying to protect them. _Not this time._

The crystal beings arrived, buzzing lazily above and (albeit seemingly) out of reach. They fired the sharp, quick spreading shards from their crystalline growths.

The wanderers dashed out of the way. Ghost phased with their void cloak while Drifter dashed in a flurry of colors. Preparing himself, Drifter dashed back, then forward. His sword held tight. Eyes locked. All he needed was one, steady dash. If he could just scale the wall towards the little buggers, he would have the chance to give each one final blow powered by (almost) momentum alone.

Before he could, however, the Ghost took his chance. Shattered focus and unsure of his own next action, Drifter careened into a wall. A trickle of blood trickled down from his bruised nose. Dammit.

Drifter pushed himself off the ground, staring at the sight that unfolded before him. He knew now that the Ghost maybe wasn't totally in control or okay right now. Drifter couldn't help but stare as this small child beat the crap out of these creatures. Sure, Drifter gauged from first hand experience how dangerous these creatures could be, but this much wasn't needed.

Their sloppy movements made it all the more worrying. Time after time, easy to dodge missiles were fired only for them to only just jump out in time. Inky black globs still seeped out of their sockets, splattering the ground and the enemies, who recoiled from the chilly shock.

As quickly as the fight started, it ended. Ghost silently huffed with effort, quivering with exhaustion. 

Drifter moved to type, but his claws were yanked away before he even got the chance. Quicker than a Crystal Wolf, Ghost grabbed Drifter's hand, attempting to bring him away from this place.

They didn't manage to pull Drifter very far though. Really, with the reckless stunt they pulled that Drifter could’ve easily dismantled, they should've realized. But maybe it was more of an attempt out of care rather than logic. Maybe they just wanted Drifter to be safe after everything. Thinking about that made Drifter's shoulder hurt all the more.

Quickly, Drifter grabbed the child, holding them close to his chest. He shuddered from the coldness. No matter that, Drifter clicked his boots and dashed. More attention was paid to his path this time. If he hit a wall again he might even break his nose, and Drifter didn't actually know what to do in that situation.

Ghost didn't resist the sudden grab. They fell limp at the touch, originally doing nothing within the Drifter's grasp, but once they noticed Drifter's lack of anger, they cuddled closer under his many cloaks. Drifter still felt the cold sting if their tears regardless, but it was better for them to simply cry rather than be silenced. All living things needed to show emotion sometimes.

Whether Drifter had finally gotten far enough away or that he couldn't ignore his shoulder anymore wasn't important, because when he did stop he was lucky enough to find a small nook in the cavernous walls. No crystals or bloodthirsty buggers in sight.

He set the Ghost down, earning a confused look from them until Drifter finally felt the toll on his body. He collapsed, hacking from the overuse of his lungs. The adrenaline fueled pumping of his heart beat against his sore chest. He pulled his mask down from his face, allowing himself to breathe something other than his own clotting blood. It took what felt like forever for the blood to finally trickle to a stop. The pink liquid stained the floor. Drifter grimaced.

When he looked at something other than the puddle of blood now splattered on the floor, he flinched at the sight of those two hollow black sockets. He almost bared his fangs in the shock of it all, which he blamed his adrenaline crash for. Luckily, the Ghost didn't think anything of it. They placed a hand on their own “face” (was it a face even?) where their mouth would have been. 

“Sorry…” Drifter croaked, his voice barely existent after the dreadful amount of hacking he just did. Speaking of talking--

“Ghost where is my--” was all he said before Ghost held up exactly what Drifter was looking for. Drifter sighed, which made him cough. In the Ghost's tiny little claws, his companion sprite wiggled angrily. It beeped at the Ghost, squirming, but Ghost's grip didn't budge. They held it up for a few more seconds, then pulled it close again, ignoring the sprite's shrill squeak. Ghost hugged it ever so tightly, reminding Drifter of a simpler time. “Oh, so that's where.”

Ghost let go of the sprite. It zoomed back towards Drifter, almost colliding with his face to show him, yet again, that damned medical alert.

Ghost also ran towards him, which Drifter actually didn't expect. Imagine his shock at the second time something hit him, except this time he was hit square in the chest rather than just a close-call.

Ghost ignored Drifter's yelp (and cough) of surprise. Claws dug into Drifter's shirt; Ghost was so small that their arms couldn't even encompass his waist. 

Gingerly, he carefully hugged them back. When was the last time he hugged someone? He wasn't sure honestly. When everyone was armed to the teeth and being a lonely wanderer were stacked together, it wasn't very hard to figure out why.

But, he still had something he needed to do. [Ghost, sorry, but I need you to let go of me for a little bit.] Ghost took one look at the message and burrowed into his cloak further. Tiny little claws dug in tighter, actually causing a bit of pain. Biting back a wince, Drifter carefully and gently took the Ghost's claws in his own, unhooking them from his shirt. “Sorry.”

Drifter placed them down next to himself, ignoring their look of dejection even if it caused a newfound hurting in his chest. He took off his layered cloak; cloth stuck to his shoulder with the sticky, tacky blood. Next to him, the Ghost watched, pulling Drifter's cloak to their chest once Drifter set it down.

The medical pack he carried on him, upon further inspection, was pitifully low on supplies. Dammit, Drifter thought. Of course now would be the time he actually needed those supplies. The meager amount of items included a couple injections, an almost empty roll of bandages, tweezers, and a needle and thread. Drifter took the tweezers, steadied his shaking hand, and got to work on his shoulder.

If anything, what little luck he had kept the crystals from being too hard to remove. Instead of being miniscule pieces that were meticulously hard to remove, these actually weren't too tiny. Sure, they hurt like a bitch to remove, but he considered himself lucky when he could. Besides, the crystals had also proven not to have the same corrupting quality the ones back in the West had.

Once the painful process of removing the crystals had ended, Drifter took the needle and hooked it to the thread. Quickly, so that he didn't have to prolong this more than he needed, he stitched up the wounds, bandaged them, and stuck in an injection for good measure.

When he finished, he leaned back against the wall, bracing his good shoulder against it. It took an effort to keep his eyelids open. If he wasn't so preoccupied, he swore he could have just fallen asleep then and there, but there were more important things he had to do. Like, for one--

Something fell against his leg, patting it with their small little claws. Oh, the Ghost again, with Drifter's companion sprite held hostage like a child’s favorite toy. The sprite at least seemed to accept its fate this time around. Drifter's cloak also had been stolen by the Ghost, now serving as a blanket.

“Did I scare you?” Drifter cocked his head, sighing, “I apologise for forcing us to stop. I’ll be up in a second, just give me a moment.”

Ghost shook their head, climbing up on the Drifter's lap. They pulled the cloak around themself tighter and leaned against the Drifter's chest. A few moments later and their breathing had slowed. Drifter didn't move, processing just what had just happened.

Did…

Did the Ghost just fall asleep? On _him_ of all places.

A few gentle pokes later and yes, yes they had done just that. The sprite still captive in their arms; themself still curled up in Drifter's cloak. With a sigh, Drifter resigned himself to his fate. While he tried to keep himself awake in case of trouble, Drifter found himself slowly drifting off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are terrible at teamwork and bad at emotions who would have guessed.  
On another note; Ghost has claimed yet another dad.  
This is your fate now Drifter.


	5. Lifeseeds Are Mildly Horrifying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord its been a while i promise im not dead.  
School's been kicking my ass.

Ghost didn't actually require as much sleep as one would guess. They weren't exactly… organic after all. They could stay awake for days on end without so much a problem. The only catch to all this was that anything especially physically or emotionally draining would tire them over time. But even then, they didn't need as much as something truly _alive._

And that is why they had landed themself in a somewhat humorous predicament. Swaddled inside Drifter's cloak--which was a tad big--and laying on top of Drifter. Upon awakening, they panicked, as in their half-awake state, they couldn't figure out why they couldn't move or how they could faintly hear soft, ragged breathing.

They wiggled out of the blanket, softly tumbling off Drifter and onto the floor. They held their breath when Drifter shifted, but he didn't wake. Thank the useless gods for that.

They dusted themself off, checked their sword, and pulled out their map. With their itty bitty quill, they scratched into the paper. Little doodles and whatnot to keep themself entertained. They couldn't place exactly why they were so adamant not to wake Drifter, but they kept to it.** She** was gone now after all, so the risk was non-existent on that front. 

They scribbled some more, impaling the paper with some pins and removing some for good measure. Quirrel had said that sleep was the most important thing to do when sick. Rest wasn't one of Ghost's favorite activities. They thought it stupid when all it did was keep them from doing all the things they wanted to do. But alas, when they were ill, that's all both he and Hornet would let them do.

They looked back to Drifter, boredom ever so slightly creeping up on them. What to do… What to do…

An idea!

They scanned their map once again. King’s Pass wasn't that far away.

-+-

_From behind, a familiar voice echoed out to him. A voice of a drifter not rattled by sickness and painful hacking. The Alternate._

_“So that's where you’ve been. Goddammit Drifter Guardian’s been lookin’ for you!” _

__

_Drifter shrugged, turned, and faced Alt. [I left a note…] The typed words helped hide the growing sense of guilt. His sprite bobbed with disappointment, if it had a face Drifter thought it'd be frowning with disapproval._

__

__

_Alt huffed. “Drifter, you, I, and Guardian all know when you leave a note that means you are plannin’ to do somethin’ incredibly stupid. Remember last time you left a note?” She asked, tapping a finger to her jackal-like helmet._

__

__

_Drifter began to tap a response but Alt beat him to it, “They brought you home all bloodied up! Your damn ribs were shattered, you were covered in burn marks, and to top it off you somehow at the same time had hypothermia. And that's not even an isolated incident you dumbass!”_

__

__

_Drifter had actually forgotten about that incident. Stupid birds and their stupid culty magic rays and their stupidly cold stupid mountain covered in stupid cliffs._

__

__

_“You also left a note before you left to go to the West. Yeah I remember that. Said a thing or two about how you, 'Just wanted to check somethin,’ and stumbled home crying with a crystal in your thigh!”_

__

__

_[To be fair I wasn't crying because of the crystal.]_

__

__

_Alt threw her hands in the air, “That's not the point! The point is that you left a note and Guardian's worrying themself sick-- um, sicker.” With an exaggerated gasp she ended her rant right then and there, crossing her arms and stared Drifter down. Even with her eyes remaining unseen underneath her helmet, the glassy eye-holes of which still bored into him nonetheless._

__

__

_Drifter muttered, incomprehensible to Alt but most likely a swear. [You're right, I'm sorry for worrying you guys.]_

__

__

_“Nah, I wasn't worried. Guardian was the one who did all the worrying. But me? Nah. If you decided to be a idiotic dumbass then that's your problem,” she flicked his forhead. _

__

__

_“Ow,” he rubbed his temple. [You seemed awfully mad for someone who 'wasn’t worried’ Alt.]_

__

__

_“Oh shut up, fine. I was worried,” she said. She looked over Drifter's shoulder, “So, what were you going to do that warranted a note?”_

__

__

_[The East. There's been something…] Drifter grimaced, ignoring the burning he felt in the pit of his stomach. He grit his teeth. [There's this monster, driven mad, that has decimated the locals home and slaughtered them.] _

__

__

_[There's also a module that it has been guarding, so if I slay it, it'll be like killing two birds with one stone. Further our mission and avenge the otterfolk.]_

__

__

_Alt didn't comment on that, even if Drifter could just tell she wanted to make fun of his righteousness._

__

__

_“I'll come with you then. Hafta fill the Guardian in on our plan first,” Alt finally said. Her small, glowing orb that she somehow fought with changing to an angry shade of pink._

__

__

_[It's okay I can handle it.]_

__

__

_Alt sighed, “Not this again. If it makes you feel any better just pretend I’m only doing it for the local’s sake alright?” She didn't wait for an answer, “Then let's go.”_

-+-

Waking up left him confused. The dream was so vivid, being that of a memory and all. Worry wormed its way into his chest, constricting his heart. Both of them must be so worried.

He took as deep a breath as he could manage in an effort to shake off the coil of guilt. He had to focus on now. If he didn't, he might never see them again. 

He rubbed the haze out of his eyes. His face felt cold, must be the absent mask. One look at the bloodstained thing however and Drifter opted to instead stow it away in his sprite. Yeah… that thing needed a wash.

His cloaks laid in a bundle near his chest. Why was that? Usually he preferred to just sleep with them on, and if he didn't he just simply laid them to the side. Now why would--

Oh no.

Drifter shot to his feet, scaring his companion sprite into hitting a wall. He clicked his cloaks on and scanned the area. Claws rested on his sword’s hilt. Where were they? Where had they wandered to?

He poked around, checking here and there for the lost child. But, mid inspection, he stopped. The child, while being a child, could obviously handle themself. After all, they had ruthlessly slain those flying crystal things from before. So why did the fear of losing them and them getting injured hurt so bad? Maybe the hurt wasn't because of that. That aching feeling in his heart, a different one from the guilt, could it just be because of his condition? But it didn't sear or cripple him, it was different.

He pushed it aside. Had to be just his sickness. He couldn't get attached now. He just couldn't…

He smacked himself in the face. None of this has anything to do with the problem at hand!

A shattering noise echoed from behind him. The recognizable sound of crystals breaking. Drifter grabbed his sword and held it steady, pointed at the direction of the noise. He clicked his boosters against the cavern floor. He held his breath, waiting.

Then the full-blown force of a rocketing child hit him head-on. He stumbled back, unable to brace himself for the fall and ended up with the wind knocked out of him. He rolled to the side, scrambled to his feet, and held the sword aloft in the confusion. Upon seeing the Ghost, he dropped it.

“Okay what the hell was that!” He coughed. Ghost shrugged, “What does that mean?”

Ghost ignored Drifter's crackly ramblings and fuming companion sprite. They walked closer to Drifter, brandishing a small wiggling blue creature in their hands.

“I, uh, what is that exactly?”

Ghost held it up to their “mouth,” bobbed the creature up and down in a mock way of eating, then pushed it in Drifter's direction again.

Drifter knelt down for a closer inspection. He took one look, as that was all it took, to decide not to do what the Ghost wanted. “No way in_ hell_ am I going to put that in my--”

Ghost shoved the thing in his mouth.

Oh god. It was rubbery. And it squirmed. Something told him that he shouldn't pierce it with his fangs.

He covered his mouth with a claw and forced himself to swallow. Couldn't do anything else with the Ghost watching him. Oh dear whatever god was around this was probably the grossest thing he's ever had to eat. 

When he finished gagging the Ghost held up another one. To this, Drifter kept his mouth covered. He wasn't going to let the same thing happen twice.

To his surprise Ghost didn't make Drifter consume it, and chose to eat the damn thing themself. How they did it with no mouth was unnerving but not more so than seeing the innards sucked out the thing like a juice box.

Rather than asking what the hell Ghost just made him eat, he chose to remove this interaction from his memory. He totally wasn't going to have some strange nightmares because of this...

Ghost, of course, didn't understand why Drifter was so averse to eating the lifeseed but that was his problem. If anything it'd hopefully heal him somewhat. 

[So, shall we be going now?] Drifter asked. 

Ghost shrugged, then nodded. _Luckily,_ they thought,_ the heart’s remains should be close by._ In his flight from the crystal hunters, Drifter had accidentally brought them ever so closer to where they needed to be. Not that he knew of course; Ghost knew thanks to the ever helpful and ever unnerving whisper of their wandering compass.

They took the lead, looking over their shoulder to make sure Drifter was close behind.

-+-

Getting to the damned place wasn't too hard after all. Nothing new crawled from the darkness, and despite the Ghost needing to--and Drifter frankly had no idea how they did this-- rocket past a particularly large crevasse of crystals. Drifter, realizing that at this point he shouldn't question how the child managed half the things they did, dashed across without a problem. Just quick paced dashes. Each dash rocketing himself along a fragmented crystal edge. They were slick, but Drifter traversed worse.

Drifter stopped, sliding across the rough ground next to Ghost. Their claw pointed to the space ahead. A space that was taken up by a large… statue? Was it even a statue? Drifter strode closer. Careful claws ran over the ancient surface. How old was this? Could it have been an ancient machine? One that moves the ground and harvests the abundance of shattered crystals. 

Near the center, where the heart should have been, the Drifter saw what looked to be an opening. He traced the outline, seeing strange letterings written around the hole. It didn't look to be of the common sort of writing here. More ancient. More intricate.

Ghost scuffed the ground with their nail, making the Drifter tense for a moment. Oh yes, the task at hand.  
Or maybe the child was getting bored.

Either way he needed to get on with it.

[Sorry.] The Ghost shrugged at his apology, instead beginning their own search for crystals. They took one in claw, inspected it, inspected it even closer, then chucked it behind them, making it shatter and momentarily making the Drifter panic. The shattering of crystals could mean many things at that point: those damned crystal creatures’ return for vengeance, the sound of another walking into the two's space with the intent to harm, the Ghost getting hurt, Ghost falling into the field below…

Ghost getting hurt in general…

Drifter hissed to himself. _Stop. Stop it now. Focus._ He poured himself into searching the masses of crystals. The process eventually became his own little system. Check, scan, toss, repeat. It wasn't until he had amassed a modest amount of tossed crystals that he realized that their quest may have been futile.

Drifter tapped the wall. [You have any luck?]

Ghost shook their head. Their pile was a good size amount too. Their head sagged sadly. They were_ certain_ that the crystals here were going to work! If not, where else would they look?

Drifter sighed. [It is okay Little Ghost, we can look elsewhere. The crystals can't possibly be powered only around here.]

The ghost nodded, still sad but hopeful. They clapped their hands together, restoring the previous pep they had. 

With a wave of their claw, they turned around and readied their own dash. The glowing pink crystals dotted the ground around where they stood, gleaming with a strong light. 

“Wait don't move!” Ghost turned to Drifter, still surrounded by the crackling crystals. If they had eyebrows, they’d be raising one.

Drifter coughed, [Ghost… how long have you had this ability?]

Ghost shrugged, counting on their claws towards some number before giving up entirely. 

[Those crystals around you… don't you think they're full of an awfully large amount of energy by how they're glowing?] Drifter kept his hand steady as he typed. Yes, he was a bit frustrated. Not exactly at the child but nonetheless. Though, another part of him found this inexplicably hilarious. Just, the amount of accidentally not even realizing the clear cut solution to the problem.

Ghost stared. And stared. And stared even more. After an eternity of staring, they launched off, their claws flapping wildly from the accidental rocketing. Drifted watched as they flew down the cavern. They’d be fine… probably.

He crouched down, lightly tracing the outline of the crystals. He clicked his tongue. The sprite flew towards him, nuzzling his face before cataloging the crystals. One click later and the crystals were stored inside its mechanisms. 

One component down, two to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone else sorta grossed out by lifeseeds?... I mean yeah they're great but also like ???


	6. Quirrel Has Only One Fear and It Isn’t Deepnest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The further I go the more the chapter titles look like those anime with the super long names.
> 
> I am also awaiting my Quirrel plush.
> 
> my boy.

Making the way out of the Caverns was in no way as hard as when the two entered. A few problems here and there, but nothing too noteworthy. Drifter was glad, no more sharp dangerous crystals and strange flying creatures that wished to skewer him on a sparkling pike. 

Drifter recognized that they were once again near the home of the strange snail. Inwardly, he groaned, as he _really_ didn’t want to have to deal with her again. Especially after the whole “sickness” ordeal. To Drifter’s relief, Ghost actually led him farther down from the shaman, thank gods.

Ghost ran forward suddenly, brushing past Drifter in a flurry to happily point at a sign. No words were written, all that the sign possessed was a strange symbol in the shape of… Well, Drifter didn’t exactly know, but by the Ghost’s delight it had to be somewhat positive. 

He stepped forward to follow them inside. He brushed his claw against the smooth arched entryway. Say, if he ever had a chance to just simply _be_ here rather than getting stuck here, he’d have to come back to inspect all of the architecture and mechanical attributes of this land. With what Quirrel told him about the crystals, Drifter was just itching to figure out how that strange technology worked. All that stopped him was the fear of never returning “home” as the Guardian would put it, and those goddamn flying crystal menaces.

Ghost had their map held wide open, no doubt checking the route they’d have to take. They beckoned him over to look with them; Drifter obliged of course. They pointed to an area near the bottom of their tiny map—shoving a hand in their chest to pull out a shiny new pin to place upon it. So, a place called “Deepnest.” Drifter muttered to himself, “This better not be as bad as the Crystal Peak.”

Well, at the very least the one named Hornet might be able to help. Drifter hoped she would. But, maybe it’d be better if she didn’t?

Whatever the answer was, it was drowned out by the sound of a ringing bell and quickened stomps against the ground. Drifter hissed at the sudden noise. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ He thought. Distraction always proved dangerous. The sounds continued to become louder, and louder, and louder—__

_ _Drifter flinched. Something grabbed his leg and— oh. He took in a deep breath, shutting his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. Ghost kept on patting his leg. No doubt trying to calm him down somewhat. He’d be lying to say it didn’t help. _ _

_ _He did feel rather silly when he saw what was making the noise. The sounds clip-clopped to a stop, and a large bug stood in place. His voice was deep and raspy, no doubt from the weight of all the years he had lived. Drifter could tell, however, that the rasp wasn’t due to the circumstances of a sickness._ _

_ _Ghost trotted up to the bug, waving their claws in an arc above their head. The larger bug shifted, “Hello again, I haven’t seen you for a while. Been spending time with your family?”_ _

_ _The Ghost nodded._ _

_ _“Good, I’m glad. It’s of no good to be lonely,” those last words spoken trailed off, sad and mournful. He shook his head. “But, you’d probably be glad to hear that I’ve seen no sign of that orange glow anywhere. No sickly smell either, and I’ve been getting more passengers lately as well.” _ _

_ _Ghost clapped. Little face almost beaming. Then, they ran back to Drifter, taking his hand in theirs and dragged him towards the stag. They threw their claws towards him as if presenting their newest catch in the friend department. _ _

_ _[Um, hi?]_ _

_ _“I haven’t seen anyone like you at all. Strange, after an eternity of no one new, suddenly there’s a boom of newfound traffic. Not that I’m complaining of course,” the bug sighed, “I am the Old Stag. Used to be the Last Stag, but a new development has arisen, so maybe this new title will stay with me for many more years.”_ _

_ _Ghost’s head shot up at that last remark. They looked at the Old Stag expectantly, their hollow eyes wavering ever so slightly. _ _

_ _The Old Stag shook his head, eyes downcast. Despite not saying a word, he understood the tiny bug completely. “Nothing new has come up yet, but I’m sure they’re out there.”_ _

_ _Ghost nodded solemnly._ _

_ _..._ _

_ _[We were hoping you could take us to deepnest?] If anything at least his interruption could permeate this awful silence. He hated to say it, but being alone for all those years took a toll out of his people skills. Something that even the time spent with the Guardian couldn't change._ _

_ _The Old Stag regained his initial demeanor, albeit, slightly nervous. “Oh, yes of course, but excuse me if I leave immediately after your departure. Deepnest is no place for me.” _ _

_ _Ghost pondered. Then they nodded and hopped onto the saddle like contraption on the Stag’s back. They scooted over, patting the space next to them._ _

_ _Drifter carefully took a step onto the Stag. He didn’t weigh much, but he knew he was definitely heavier than the Ghost. Luckily, the Stag didn’t even acknowledge the added weight to his back. _ _

_ _Ghost tapped the Stag, giving him the all-clear, and grabbed Drifters arm with their itty bitty claws. Drifter could not even process why they did this until the Stag broke into a run, rattling the occupants on the back. Drifter yelped and grabbed the railing. Ghost said nothing and continued holding Drifter’s arm. They nuzzled Drifter’s cuff._ _

_ _Soon enough the bumpiness subsided, leaving Drifter to only wonder about Deepnest. He had already been through the nightmare that was Crystal Peak and survived. So really, how bad could the place be?_ _

_ __ _

[+]

Extremely bad apparently.

Of all the questions Drifter could receive the answer to, why this one? And why, oh gods why, did the place take that as a challenge?

If Crystal peak was a simple nightmare then Deepnest was hell.

A horrible, dark, dank, skittering hell.

It was barely a second after departure when the Stag bolted. Clearly, he meant what he’d said prior. Judging by Ghost’s lack of response, this couldn’t be the first time either. 

Drifter took one step forward only to pull it out of a sticky entanglement of webbing. He groaned and pulled them off, only to step into another set instead. 

This was going to be a long day.

[So, where should we head from here?] Drifter asked, trying to ignore the shiver going down his spine when he looked out of the station. More webs lay spread upon the seemingly open cavern. Long, slender strands of the gossamer threads stretched across the chasm, holding aloft little dwellings and platforms. From what Drifter could gather from the lack of movement or noise, these houses lacked any occupants. 

He stepped out to get a closer look, keeping far from the edge and seemingly endless drop. The melancholy air that surrounded the place and lack of any life confirmed that this place was abandoned. Sad really. While all civilizations are eventually doomed despite the attempts at prolonging them--because error and selfish endeavors will happen once power is obtained-- Drifter couldn't help but feel sorry. Based on what Quirrel had told him earlier about this place, he knew it wasn't the occupants faults; rather, they were just wrapped up in a game that wasn't their own to play and subsequently lose. Drifter couldn't help but to be unsurprised. Even if Quirrel attempted to avoid any questions about the long-gone ruler, Drifter could probably guess from what information he had.

A megalomaniac who wouldn't fight their own battles if they could. Drifter had seen personally and recently what power could do to a person. The Hierophant being the prime example.

Ghost tugged on his leg, _“seriously, how many times are you going to get wrapped up in the past?”_ is what they would've said if they had a voice. Drifter did get the memo though, and promptly apologised again.

Ghost huffed and shook their head; they didn't necessarily want an apology. They were annoyed, yes, but not mad. Drifter was lost on this fact and apologized again, only adding to the Ghost's frustration. Eventually they just shrugged it off. _Oh well,_ they thought to themself. They couldn't exactly do anything about it.

They pulled out their map again. The map crinkled as they removed it, prompting them to hastily smooth it out. A quick tap and they found the area near where they found that large deposit of pale ore. _And where the monster lived,_ they shuddered at the thought. 

Drifter knelt down to look over the map. [There? That's quite a bit aways…] Drifter frowned. [Please don't tell me we have to walk through this hellscape.]

Ghost stared.

He sighed, [Of course. Why wouldn't I have guessed?]

[+]

Unsurprisingly, the sprite hated the place as well.

First off, as soon as it built up the courage to leave the safety of Drifter's cloak, it immediately rocketed itself into a large entanglement of webbing. It whistled not unlike that of a teapot for the solid ten seconds it took Drifter to free it, then beeped sadly as Drifter tore away the leftover strings. Ghost, of course, did not help at all. They found this whole ordeal absolutely hilarious.

Secondly, there was absolutely too much going on. Every skitter or crunch or screech of an unknown creature made its sensors flare up. It originally refused Drifter's offer to let it rest back under his cloak, where hopefully the sounds and sights would be muffled, as it felt like if it did it wouldn't be doing its duty. But eventually, it succumbed and flew under Drifter's cloak, purring happily as he stroked it in an attempt to calm it down.

Finally and thirdly, it absolutely hated how dusty and heavy the air was here. Not that these attributes affected it exactly, but rather how these affected the Drifter. He coughed much more frequently down here, and every time he did so, the sprite got an alert. It knew the air bothered him. Every so often, he’d wince and lay a hand upon his chest, momentarily wheezing until he caught his breath. The sprite nuzzled his hand, feeling useless as it was unable to help him.

What didn't bother the sprite, but did to the Drifter, was the lack of any apparent threat. Sure, he felt the many eyes of different beasts bore into him. He saw the creatures in the corners of his eyes. Their mandibles clicking and oozing with venom. And what did try to attempt to fight the two was quickly shot at by Drifter's rifle. Well, after giving Drifter a heart attack of course.

But the real threats always loomed in the darkness. Waiting for the two to let down their guards so they could sink those clicking fangs into their necks. The claustrophobic tunnels didn't help ease the tension; it only saw to increase the ever present dread building in Drifter's chest. 

As they traversed and fought the tunnels and the many-legged creatures within, a noise became apparent as it echoed across the tiny corridor. Obviously the two voices had no qualms about attracting anything to come after them. Drifter looked to Ghost and they looked back, shrugged, and ran towards the noise nail in claw. 

Drifter cursed under his breath and followed. The too common feeling of worry for the child wormed back into his heart, squeezing it and making it weak. He couldn't pass it off on his illness anymore, that much he knew. This one was less brutal and destructive. This one was… full of care. A worrying sort of care, but still one out of love.

This feeling was not unlike the feelings of attachment he felt to the Alternate or the Guardian, but not exactly the same either. 

The Alternate he knew as a close friend, funny seeing as she was someone he originally felt indifferent and even distrust towards. After her risking her hide to save him and him doing the same to her, something changed. Alt became someone he trusted with his life, whether it be administering medical aid or even what to do if he so happened to… not make it.

He'd do the same for her.

The Guardian, however, was similar to the Alternate but also different… Of course, like Alt he trusted them with his life and would even die for them. The difference was that there existed other feelings that accompanied those. Like how he wanted to just hold them close, their armored hands clasped around his gloved ones... Dammit, his face flushed just thinking about it. 

But the Ghost brought upon a feeling of protectiveness from him. One unlike the prior ones. The others had a mutual agreement to protect the other, an agreement that made the bond so strong and caring. But Drifter didn't _want_ the Ghost to protect him like he did them. Drifter just wanted to keep them safe from harm and happy. He wanted them to be able to show their childishness more often rather than needing to stay mature and stoic.

He wanted them to be able to actually be a _kid._

But would that make Drifter their…

He snapped out of his monologue once the steam hit his face. He jolted, sliding behind the wall before scanning the room. The culprit of the humid air lay in the middle of the room. A fairly good sized hot spring with two bickering figures that had an uncertain air of unfamiliarity about them. He inched away from the wall.

A small claw stopped him. The Ghost stared silently, making sure they had his attention before placing one claw to their “mouth” and gently pointing to the figures. Oh, so they just wanted to snoop. 

Drifter felt as if he should reprimand them for this. But alas, he couldn't be a good role model this time. 

Call it old habits but drifters like himself couldn't just waltz up to someone and ask them about the weird happenings and odd figures around. To get that kind of info one had to be just a little bit nosy.

Immediately, the owners of the two voices became clear. Drifter angled his head towards them, catching a glimpse of a ruby red cloak. Yep, definitely who he thought it was.

A little bit of shifting allowed Drifter to discreetly watch from behind the scenes. Undetected and ready to snoop on Ghost's friends.

“Of all the hot springs in this godsforsaken kingdom, any one at all, you choose this one in particular.”

Quirrel shrugged, “I really do not understand how this is a problem Hornet.”

Hornet muttered curses into her palm. “We. Are. In. Deepnest you idiotic excuse for a scholar!”

He shrugged, not even reacting to her insult, “Yes? And that means it is nice and quiet down here. It gives a sense of catharsis after the ordeal that is the claustrophobic tunnels.” He hummed to himself, “And how bad could it truly be? You’re down here as well.”

“But I grew up here! I’m used to this! Unlike you who probably grew up all sheltered in the city above!”

“Yes, maybe so, but have you forgotten about my travels? Or maybe even that I had to spend an awful lot of time in the Fog Canyon? Because let me say, it isn’t as chaotic but it is definitely—“

“Okay you know what, fine! If you have a death wish than so be it,” Hornet retorted, then turned around to stalk off. 

Quirrel shrugged, “Okay then.” 

Hornet froze solid. She whipped around and faced Quirrel, “What do you mean ‘okay then?’ Do you have any idea how much you’d be missed?”

Quirrel smiled, “Oh, you’d miss me Hornet?”

She tensed, realizing what she just said. Quick to mend it, she corrected herself, “Not me of course, but the Ghost.”

“Of course Hornet, nice save there.”

“Oh shut up.”

Quirrel continued his banter while Hornet continued her bickering. Drifter smirked, oh how this reminded himself of his and Alt’s lovely conversations; conversations that usually were either her chastising him or him spooking her at night because of his wack sleep schedule. His smile melted.

He missed her.

“Hello there friends, how long have you been there?” Quirrel turned to face the snoops. “Fantastic job by the way, I didn't even notice you. At least, until I finally caved into the voice in the back of my head telling me I’m being watched.” He winked.

Hornet didn't take this half as well. She startled, stepping back in a frenzied skitter. She then gripped herself back into her stoic demeanor and squared her shoulders. “Haven't I told you that watching others was rude Little Ghost?”

Ghost shrugged, giving up the charade of sneakiness to hop into the steamy spring. They took their nail to splash the two adults. Hornet hissed and Quirrel reached up to grab something on his head to shield himself, but found nothing there. “I see you win this time friend,” he teased.

Quirrel turned his head back to where Drifter stood, making Drifter's body go rigid. “Come on now, don't think I didn't notice you as well. The spring does wonders on a wounded bug (even if you probably aren't) and broken soul.”

Drifter inched forward. He doubted that the water could heal him, but maybe it could offer some sort of comfort. Even just breathing in the heated humid air brought the slightest tinge of relief, especially after the choking tunnels. He fiddled with his cloak’s hem; the spring could also help with the blood problem.

But as he removed his cloak--it was placed aside for now-- and slowly edged into the warm pool, another memory resurfaced.

_He remembered the forest. The emptiness that echoed within those crystals, along with faces that reflected his own staring back at him. People lost and unremembered._

_A distraction, the sharp stinging pain, and then crawling back to town trying his hardest not to lose consciousness. No one would be at the house at this time. No one would need to know about Drifter's own foolish mistake that got him injured. He caused it, so he'd fix it. But in the heat of it all he had forgotten about that note. _

_He was lucky the Alternate wasn't there at the least. She would have chewed him out on his mistake to the point where he would've wished he'd perished after all. What was something that the Drifter thought unlucky at the time (but later began to think of it as luck) was how upon entering, he could see the Guardian sitting at the table, fully armored with their two bright blue eyes staring right into him._

_Immediately they jumped to their feet. “You're covered in blood…” They trailed off, gently laying their hands on Drifter's shoulders. He swayed far too much for comfort._

_Drifter heard the clank of metal before feeling the Guardian’s gauntletless hand gently smudge something off his cheek. “You're crying, Drifter what happened?”_

_He didn't answer. His fingers grazed his face, coming back wet with tears. So he was crying._

_“Nothing,” he lied, “really, I just got careless and fell over.” He was too tired to type and the sprite had unfortunately drained of power-- leaving him stranded. Curse his luck..._

_The Guardian stayed quiet. At last, they sighed, knowing Drifter well enough by now to know that he was lying through his teeth. Despite this, they did not press. Drifter had went through enough that day._

_So Guardian did the only logical thing, pick the barely standing Drifter up and placing him in bed. He, of course, yelped in surprise as the Guardian lifted him up bridal style as to not irritate the wound further. The bed was not far after all, and they were quickly able to lay him down and steal his bloodied cloak, scarf, and helm(they’d already seen him helmless after all, so no privacy was breached.)_

_Drifter looked at them, confusion gracing his features. “What are you--” he coughed, “Guardian, what are you doing?” He started to push himself up, but winced and allowed himself to fall back down._

_“I'm going to set these aside to clean later (after all, Alt is on cleaning duty this week) to get the blood out. We can clean what you have on later, but it's better than nothing.” They turned, “Also, stay down, you're injured enough.” That last line made Drifter wince with how stern it was. On top of that, those pointed words came from the Guardian of all people, who was the calm and level headed one of the three._

_The oddness of it all irked him to no end, but he'd address it later._

_Drifter watched them disappear upstairs, their armor being everything but quiet. Drifter groaned, making his second attempt to rise, but was only able to sit upright. Any further and the sharp crystals would dig further into his leg. He bit out a wince as he fully examined the wound for the first time. Wasn't particularly nasty, but definitely was just in the margin of his leg to cause the most pain. Lovely._

_The clanking metal from upstairs alerted Guardian's return. Drifter turned to face them, a medical kit in their hands._

_He moved to take the box; a gentle hand halted him. Guardian shook their head, opening the box just out of reach. “It's okay, Guardian. I can do this myself.”_

_“Your shaking hands say otherwise.” Medicine in hand, they apologised as they administered the antibiotics. The familiar pain lanced up his nerves, gritting his fangs Drifter tensed but made no noise. The less noise he made, the less worried the Guardian would be. They always worked faster when their mind was clear, less hesitation. In the back of his mind, Drifter knew his keeping them from worrying stemmed from another source as well, but he didn't want to come to terms with that just yet. _

_Guardian then, as quickly as they could to minimize pain, extracted the embedded crystals, cauterized the wound, and wrapped it in gauze._

_When they finished, they sighed relief and exhaustion. Their own hands shook by now, but all that mattered was that the wound was cleaned and the crystals were gone._

_“You didn't have to do that,” Drifter murmured. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. “I could've just handled it myself.”_

_Guardian stayed quiet. Their glowing blue eyes dimming with thought as they tried to figure out how to answer. “Drifter, you don't have to do everything alone,” they paused, “Alt and I care about you immensely. If anything were to happen we would… We would be devastated.”_

_Drifter scoffed, “Alt wouldn't.”_

_“I know that you know that's a lie.”_

_“You caught me.”_

_“Alt trusts you, you've quickly become a close friend to her, something that I never knew possible because of her aloof nature. And you've become a…”_

_Guardian looked as if they were about to continue but stopped. They wrung their hands together. _

_“You matter a lot to me as well,” was what they said instead. _

Drifter felt a cold form wrap around his waist and tap his cheek. Two blank black eyes boring into him as they smudged the fresh tears on his face. Dammit, he got all emotional again. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, seeing Ghost tilt their head quizzically.

He rubbed the spot on their head between their horns, “Thank you Ghost, but don't worry, I'll be okay.” 

A small chuckle echoed from the other side of the spring. Internally, Drifter groaned at the thought of someone else seeing him so weak _and_ laughing at him. Then again, the look on Quirrel's face held no malice. “I was beginning to get worried, my friend. Normally I am the one to get deliriously lost in thought, so it is a little strange seeing someone else get like this.”

Drifter narrowed his eyes, a certain someone seemed to be missing, “Where's Hornet?”

“She went off to catch some 'prey’ as she put it. I wouldn't be too worried about it,” he shrugged. He reached up to his forehead once again, but stopped abruptly once his claws hooked onto nothing but air. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head instead, “I should probably invest in a new hat…”

Ghost perked up at that, splashing across the pool to bother Quirrel about this. Their two empty sockets asking the questions they never vocalized. Drifter wondered about this, but figured it wasn't his business.

[+]

Drifter laid his mask and cloak across the warm rocks. It took forever to get all that mud, dirt, and blood that came from various surfaces off, but Drifter prevailed… eventually.

[Quirrel, I thought you were scared of Deepnest?] Drifter typed. Maybe the drying process would go by faster if he invested in some small talk. He really had no choice otherwise, seeing as the Ghost had taken to entertaining themself on the bench, sorting through their absurd number of little discs Quirrel had informed him were “charms.” This meant Drifter couldn’t look to them for company. So small talk it was. Unfortunately for Drifter, he had no clue how to initiate small talk. He gathered this by Quirrel’s reaction.

Quirrel hummed and shrugged, placing a claw on the lower half of his face. “I’m not exactly scared, per se, it’s just,” he paused, searching for an answer, “while I have no qualms about traversing this place myself in theory, it still manages to put me off at times.” He laughed, “That and I don’t think someone new to Hallownest would last very long in Deepnest.”

[I’m taking offense to that,] Drifter joked.

“Well it’s the truth. And after all, Hornet specifically called off any and all attacks onto her siblings so there’s that.”

Drifters eyes widened, [That… actually makes sense. I was wondering why the eyes I felt on us two didn’t just get on with the whole killing thing.] Drifter fell silent, then smiled. [You see, back where I mostly stayed, there were these wolves that would attack any unwary wanderer. Those things _never_ chose to be sneaky and pounce. They straight up howl before attempting to rip your body to shreds.] His smile faded, [Really it’s just when there’s a lot of them is the problem.]

Quirrel laughed, but not in humor, “Seems like you have a lot of experience in that.”

Drifter shrugged, [Guess you could say that.]

The two fell silent again.

Till someone, Quirrel this time, attempted to rekindle it. “Say, would it be okay if I took a look at that sprite of yours?”

The sprite squeaked and looked at Drifter incredulously. A sort of way to say,_ don’t you even dare._ But Drifter did dare, and said, “Sure, it shouldn’t hurt my throat too much to talk for a little.”

He plucked the sprite out of the air and handed it to Quirrel, The sprite shook angrily and shrilled out whine after whine. “C’mon it’s not that bad—“ Drifter coughed into his elbow. Wincing, he laid a hand to his throat. “Ow…”

Quirrel carefully held the sprite, before inspecting it, however, he turned to Drifter. “Are you sure, I’d hate to make you talk more than you have to.”

Drifter waved his worry off, “It’s fine, I can manage.” Quirrel didn’t look convinced. “I promise I’ll be fine, as long as my sprite cooperates.” The sprite stopped its wriggling and pouted from within Quirrel’s grasp. Sighing, Drifter tapped the top of the sprite. “Quirrel’s not going to hurt you, right Quirrel.”

Quirrel nodded, “Wasn’t even a passing thought little one.”

The sprite whined, but did nothing about it.

[+]

“See, now that that tab is open, you should be able to drag it.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, but not too far! The holo only goes so far. It Isn’t magic.”

Drifter was once again reminded of how amicable Quirrel happened to be. Especially with the two of them sharing that same love of figuring out how the hell things worked.

So far, Quirrel had become pretty adept at navigating the sprite and its functions. Drifter never thought himself to be a good teacher, so that only left Quirrel open to being an impeccable student. He listened to Drifter’s instruction and always attempted to find the solution to any issues rather than grow frustrated. If Drifter didn’t know any better, he’d say Quirrel himself was a student himself in the past, and a good one at that.

Which brought into question the whole scholar thing. Hornet knew Quirrel longer and better than Drifter did anyway.

Drifter told himself to ask about that later.

“There we go!” Quirrel said, triumph in his voice. Drifter looked back over to Quirrel to see him using the Sprites camera function. “So all I have to do is…” he paused, unsure.

“Click the little diamond to take the photo, and you can manipulate the screen to zoom in and out as you please,” Drifter piped up. His cloak and mask were dry enough now, so he’d been adjusting them to his liking. “Quirrel? You good?”

“Yeah, I just, so if I tap the diamond, then it’d copy the scene as it is before me? Like a painting?” Quirrel hovered over the button, unsure.

“Yep, though not as pretty as a painting.”

Quirrel hummed, quickly tapping the diamond, upon hearing the click he turned back to Drifter. “So what now.”

Drifter scooted himself closer to him; he tapped the screen, bringing up an all new tab full of random pictures. “See, all the pictures this takes gets sorted through here, the oldest are near the top, while the newest are near the bottom,” Drifter scrolled down till he found the one Quirrel took, “and tada!” He tapped it, “Here’s your photograph!”

As Quirrel marveled at it, Drifter couldn’t help but admire the picture he’d decided to take. The Ghost asleep on the bench, curled up in their cloak with their charm box adjacent to the side. Drifter internally melted at the both the sight and the fact that he had this adorable little picture stored safely away in his spite. Drifter thanked his ability to keep himself stoic in situations like these, otherwise he’d be in tears just about now.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what are the rest of these pictures you have?” Quirrel asked. Drifter stared for a second, then carefully started shuffling through the muddled thumbnails of each and every one. He didn’t have anything to hide really. It wasn’t like Quirrel would judge him,

He tapped one, immediately bringing to view a picture of Drifter getting royally wrecked by a kid in a game of soccer. Drifter groaned, he remembered this. Well, he remembered this and the fact that Guardian thought it’d be funny to snap a picture of the event on Drifter’s sprite. While most people couldn’t approach it without the sprite growing antsy, it always for some reason let Guardian do whatever they wanted without so much as a passcode. Luckily the Guardian never used this to wreak havoc or pry, they only used it in priceless situations such as these. 

He quickly tried to close it, but was unable to stop Quirrel from silently laughing at it. “What was that?” he asked between his bouts of laughter.

“There’s this game called ‘soccer’ back where I was prior. Essentially, you have to either kick or slice this ball across to the opposing sides ‘goal’ to win,” Drifter explained.

“Why are you facedown on the floor? Is that also part of the game?” Quirrel asked.

“No, the little brat just kept kicking me in the shins,” he rubbed said shins again as Quirrel broke out laughing. Drifter glared, “Look its not funny.”

Quirrel smiled, “It kind of is my friend.”

Drifter began looking through the pictures again in an attempt to change the subject. In his desperation, he accidentally opened a different picture entirely, one that he didn’t mean to show.

Quirrel immediately stopped laughing. He stared with Drifter, before asking, “Who are they?”

The picture in question was of Drifter, Guardian, and Alt. This time it was Alt who commandeered the sprite after Drifter left the photo tab opened. She had taken the photo with her and front, with a startled Drifter and a worried Guardian in the back. She had her free hand raised into a peace sign and even with her mask on Drifter knew she was winking. 

Drifter closed the photo, letting the nostalgia fade and the worry fade in. “They are my friends, back where I priorly was.” He took a deep breath, “The one in pink is the Guardian. You’d like them, very level headed and calm. The other one is the Alternate, or Alt for short,” Drifter coughed again, taking back the sprite to type the rest, [she’s a bit rough around the edges, but someone I trust with my life.]

“Sounds like you were close.”

[Very.]

Quirrel, hesitating, carefully put a hand on Drifter’s shoulder. He also subsequently retracted it upon seeing Drifter’s involuntary flinch. “Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to upset you friend—“

[Its fine, just not expecting it is all.]

The two stayed silent until a stirring broke it. The Ghost shoved themself upright, rubbing an eye socket as they tried to figure out what they missed. Why is it only when they decide to sleep because of boredom does anything interesting happen?

“Glad to see you awake little friend,” Quirrel called out, waving towards the Ghost. They slid off the bench, gathered their charms, and trotted off towards Quirrel. Still, they rubbed the sleep from their eyes.

They looked up to Quirrel expectantly, only to slump their shoulders once they got their answer, “No, haven’t seen Hornet around. Yes, I know she’s been gone for a while but—“

“I’m here,” Hornet yelled from above. Quirrel yelped and stood to his feet.

As Hornet landed, pulling her silver strand that kept her aloft back from the ceiling, Quirrel mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?” Hornet asked, words sharper than her needle.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said, “Ghost’s been waiting for you though,” he gestured to her legs, which now were being hugged tightly by the Ghost.

“Waiting for me, or my food?” 

This confused Drifter, until he saw what she had dragged in with her. Some beast, wrapped in gossamer, with bloody slashes littering it’s body. The Ghost was eyeing it with determination while still staying attached to Hornet’s legs.

[I’d say both.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm immature and made a hand-holding joke
> 
> This is also the chapter where I out myself as a driftguard shipper oops--  
Also I cannot describe how fun it was to describe Drifter and Quirrel being nerds together. Especially because Drifter is bad at words and has no idea how to feelings and Quirrel is good at words and sorta just rolls with stuff most of the time.
> 
> I feel it is also a good thing to mention that I have no clue where I'm going with this and it is currently 48 pages long on my writing program. If only I could do that with my original works O_o


End file.
